


Solstice

by surreysmum



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Rituals, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreysmum/pseuds/surreysmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the longest, darkest night of the year, Legolas makes a strange request of his new friend, the Ranger. Warning for ritual sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solstice

Title: Solstice  
Author: Surreysmum  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
Rating: Mature  
Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_ was created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and the rights to it belong to his designates. This piece of fan fiction was created for fun, and no money is being made from it.  
A/N: This story is set in the period just before the Fellowship set out on its journey; in the original book, that departure took place near the end of December.

 

**Solstice**

"Walk with me a little, Aragorn?"

Aragorn looked up from his perusal of Bilbo's latest poem in surprise. Though he had long known the fair Elf of Mirkwood by reputation and by sight, they were but little acquainted. The lengthy scouting missions upon which they had been separately embarked since Elrond's Council had left them scant time in which to improve that acquaintance, though Aragorn had become rather intrigued by the occasional flare of emotion he detected beneath Legolas' smooth, cool demeanour. Such notions were of minor consequence, though, compared with the dire threat of the Shadow, and Aragorn's anxiety to get their perilous journey underway. Winter was coming on fast, and still they lingered at Rivendell, shoring up the fragile health of their small Ring-Bearer as best they could.

Aragorn looked over to Bilbo, half-asleep in his favourite spot before the fire. "Go on, go on," muttered the crotchety old Hobbit. "You youngsters need your exercise and fresh air."

There was the trace of an indulgent smile on the Elf's face at that, Aragorn saw. The Ranger handed the paper back to Bilbo. "It's much improved," he said, "really very good indeed. Only you might want to reconsider the adjective in stanza seventeen, considering it's Lord Elrond's father you're singing about." He rose as he spoke, and Bilbo chuckled and patted his arm.

"You're a good lad, Strider, to spend your time humouring an old Hobbit," he said.

"Not all wisdom descends from the Eldar, nor all virtues from the race of Númenor, my friend," responded Aragorn seriously. He glanced over to Legolas. "I would look in on Frodo for a moment first, if that suits?"

"Of course."

As they approached Frodo's bedroom, Legolas surprised his companion by placing his fingers to his lips, and pushing the door open very softly. A low, tuneful humming came to Aragorn's ears, and he peeked in the doorway to see Arwen Undómiel, his betrothed, rocking the sleepy hobbit in her arms in time with her Elvish lullaby. As she gently lowered his drooping head to the pillows, Frodo opened his heavy eyelids a crack and whispered, "Thank you, Arwen."

She kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, Frodo."

Closing the door carefully behind her, she greeted the two of them silently, returning Legolas' nod and smiling as Aragorn brought her hand to his lips. "How does he fare?" asked the Ranger anxiously.

She looked grave. "He is very tired and drained tonight. As was only to be expected, perhaps."

Aragorn's brows wrinkled as Legolas responded, "I thank you for taking thought of him this night, Undómiel. It is difficult for all, but for one touched by the Darkness itself, it must be much more so." And then he added, as if the two things were somehow related, "I have asked Aragorn to walk with me in the forest this evening."

Her glance flickered from one to the other. "Aye," she said thoughtfully. "That will be well." She looked away with some unnamed sorrow in her dark eyes, and added, "After we are wed…"

Legolas took both of her hands in his, and said with the utmost respect and affection, "After you are wed, Undómiel, I wish you many such walks, and far less necessity for them." She lifted her hand and stroked the golden hair briefly.

"Arwen?" asked Aragorn, confused and concerned.

She turned to him. "Go for your walk, beloved," she said, and managed a smile for him. "Be sure to take your warmest cloak, for the wind is chill. And Estel…" He turned his face into the palm that cupped his bearded jaw, and kissed her slender wrist.

"What, beloved?"

"It is a solemn night tonight. Do not fear or turn away from anything you may learn. Legolas is a most trustworthy guide." Far from reassuring him, the words made Aragorn's gut clench in anxiety. But Legolas was already tugging gently at his sleeve, and Aragorn let himself be led away.

As he buckled on his sword and donned his outer garb, Aragorn tried to make some sense of the Elves' mysterious words. But it was only as they emerged from the Last Homely House into a cold evening, already dark, that he seized upon why this night was different from others.

"It is the solstice," he said to his companion. "I had lost track of the days, we have been so occupied."

"Aye," replied Legolas. "It is the night when Anor deserts us most entirely, leaving us in the long dark. And this year, even Ithil hides his face, in his mutable mood." Aragorn glanced upward and confirmed what Legolas said, that the moon barely showed a waning crescent.

"Amongst men, this is a night of celebration," the Ranger observed. "I have sometimes wondered why it is not the same amongst Elves. But my foster-father only ever said that different peoples have different seasons of rejoicing. Yet many different peoples feast and celebrate at this time - in the Stewards' Calendar it is Mettarë; in the Shire it is the First of Yule; amongst the Dwarves, though a lesser feast than Durin's Day, the winter solstice is also marked by rollicking festivities. But here in Rivendell, the calendar says only 31 Hrívë, following the 30th and succeeded by the 32nd."

They were rapidly leaving the friendly heat and light of the Homely House behind them now, and notwithstanding his keen senses, Aragorn was having to take care to pick his way along the bough-strewn path.

"I know less than I should about mortals," confessed his companion. "But amongst my people, it is a saying that _the short-lived chase their fear with cheer, while the children of the Eldar suffer and endure with Arda unto the end._ "

"This is a night of suffering, then?"

For answer, Legolas stopped his companion with a hand upon his arm, and said, "Listen. What do you hear?"

The cold wind howled through the trees, but Legolas held his grasp and they were both wordless until the noise died.

"It is silent," said Aragorn at last in a low tone. "The night creatures do not call. I have noticed this on other winter solstices as well."

"The silence is more profound than that," Legolas told him as they resumed their walk through the near-blackness, Legolas' hand now at Aragorn's back to warn him of danger. "All of Arda curls in upon itself, mutely seeking rest and strength within to pit against the bleakness of the winter that lies ahead. There is no hope of Spring on this black night, only despair; dark quiet desperation. So it is every year."

"I do not understand why Elrond did not explain this to me."

"Here in Imladris, I think perhaps the Elves have grown closer to the mortal world, and a little less entwined with the life of Arda itself. But I am a wood-elf, and bound to Arda's moods. I know when the stones are suffering and the trees do not speak."

As Aragorn made to reply, his foot hit a small rock in the darkness, and he went to one knee for a moment before pulling himself quickly to his feet with a slight hiss.

"Are you well?" asked Legolas, concerned.

"It is nothing. I have twisted my ankle slightly."

Legolas reached out in the darkness to steady him and encountered Aragorn's hand with his own.

"Warm," said the human, and there was something like amusement in his voice.

"What is that?"

"Your hand is warm. Somehow I expected you to be cool to the touch."

"Ah, another useful mystery dispelled," replied Legolas, laughter in his voice. "Your own hands, though, are chilly. We must find some shelter and warm ourselves a little."

"I know of none here."

"No?" Legolas was definitely teasing. "It seems there are still some things an Elf can teach a Ranger, then. About two hundred yards down this pa…" He suddenly stiffened, and without thinking twice, Aragorn took his back and drew Andúril as they stared into the night.

A momentary gleam in front of him alerted the Ranger, and with a yell he leaped and drove the sword through the wolf's heart as it attacked them. Legolas looked keenly about in case there was a pack, but there was no need.

"So close to the House," murmured the Elf as Aragorn wiped and sheathed Andúril. "They grow ever bolder."

"Aye," replied Aragorn grimly. "Should we go back in?"

There was no response from Legolas, and Aragorn peered at the Elf curiously in the dim light of the stars, finding him by bright eyes and faintly silvered hair. Though his foster-family was Elvish, Aragorn could not read the evanescent moods of this near-stranger from the forest lands. Not by any means for the first time, Legolas' alluring beauty caused a dim grumble of desire in his loins and, as ever, he ignored it. "Legolas?" asked the Ranger again.

"There is more I need to explain to you," said the Elf abruptly. "But it is my need, not yours. We will return if you wish it, Aragorn."

Yet more mysteries. "Arwen said you are a trustworthy guide," replied Aragorn at last. "Lead on, and I will follow."

But Legolas turned to face him instead, standing so close the mist of his breath brushed Aragorn's face. "I will never break your trust, I swear it," he declared passionately, before turning away and setting down the path once more.

As promised, it was only a few hundred yards before Legolas stopped and said, "Here is our shelter, such as it is. Can you climb on that ankle?"

"With no difficulty," replied the Ranger. "It is not badly hurt." And he managed to follow Legolas up into the branches of a huge, ancient oak, though with more pain than he would admit.

Instead of finding some large branch to lie upon, as Aragorn expected, Legolas said, "Hold a moment," and then nimbly jumped into a great hole on one side of the tree's massive trunk. Aragorn poked his head through the hole in alarm, surprised to find the interior dimly lit, until he looked upwards and discovered that this cavern in the centre of the tree was a roofless one, open to the stars though protected by the crossing of many lesser boughs. "All is well," came Legolas' voice sepulchrally from the blackness about fifteen feet below. "I feared some beast might have taken up residence, but we have the place to ourselves. Jump down to me."

Aragorn took a breath and then launched himself trustingly into the darkness. True to his word, Legolas caught him while he was still in the air, and set him smoothly on his legs. Aragorn clung to the Elf's shoulders for a brief moment, once more aware of the flicker of desire before he swept it away and moved deliberately a little distance apart.

"Much better, is it not? We are out of the wind here," Legolas remarked cheerfully.

Aragorn snorted slightly. "Much better if you are a bear," he retorted. He felt around the inside of the tree-trunk and patted the carpet of leaves of the floor, making sure there was nothing noxious, then sat down with relief. "Now, Legolas, what is it you must bring me out to the woods in the middle of the night to explain to me?" He heard Legolas' soft sigh from a few feet away, and almost regretted the flippant tone of his question. "What is it, _mellon-nín_? May I call you that?" he asked again, more gently.

"Indeed you may. Indeed you must, if we are to carry through our quest and stand together against the Dark Lord," came the reply. "I am sorry to seem so obscure, Aragorn. It is just that it is sometimes difficult to explain matters of belief to others…"

"That the forest goes silent every winter solstice is no matter of belief to me, for I have observed it," said Aragorn, "and I can therefore the more fully credit your explanation of it. Tell me the rest. Tell me what troubles you this night. Tell me what it is that I must do on this walk of ours, that you wish and Arwen approves."

Once again, Legolas hesitated. "There is no 'must', _mellon-nín_ ," he said. "But I will tell you what we of the Greenwood believe, and what the Lady Undómiel at least credits enough to let me try, though being Peredhel and daughter of the most rational Elrond, she may at heart think it only superstition. Have you ever wondered why the elves of Greenwood, or of Mirkwood as it is now called, have a King, while other elves do not?"

"I have sometimes thought it passing strange," replied Aragorn, "but not more so than other differences between peoples. After all, some groups of men have a King, and some do not."

"Amongst my people, we believe that Kings of all races are endowed with particular powers - they are the living avatars of the land as well as the rulers of their people, and because of that they have far sight, and hands that heal, and their seed is potent."

"I know of similar beliefs amongst Men," replied Aragorn, "though it is mostly in connection with rituals of seed and fertility in the springtime, now little practiced."

"It will not surprise you, then, to know that in Greenwood we had for many centuries, in the time of my grandfather Oropher, and in the early reign of my father Thranduil, a ritual somewhat comparable, that involved a demonstration of the King's potency upon a willing recipient representing the land." Aragorn raised his eyebrows in the darkness. "But our ritual is - was - different from those you mention in one respect: it took place not in the springtime, lush with expectation, mirroring the actual planting of the seed in the ground, but on this night of the year instead, when the earth was in despair. The King's seed is not growth and bloom, but merely - if merely it can be called - hope in the midst of the blackness, a needed reminder that there will be an end to the trials ahead and a new beginning some day. For that reason, it was unimportant whether the Vessel receiving the seed be _elleth_ or _ellon_ , but much more important that he or she have shown the most profound connection there can be with Arda itself."

"You are such a one," said Aragorn. It was not a question.

"Apparently I am more gifted in this way than has been seen for many ages." Legolas spoke without false modesty.

The implications appalled Aragorn. "But your father is King… you have not… surely…"

"Nay, Aragorn," Legolas replied immediately. "Did I not say that this ritual has not been practiced since the earliest days of my father's reign? There are many reasons why it has fallen into disuse since, but one of them most certainly is that for this King and this Vessel, it would involve a union that no race in Middle Earth would sanction."

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, cursing his over-ready body for its reactions to the implication of their presence here together. "You seek a different King," he said bluntly.

"Aye. But not just any King, Aragorn. One who is Elf-friend, one who is young and strong, one who gives hope, whose very name is Hope…"

"I am no King, nor like to be one anytime soon," said Aragorn sharply, pushing himself to his feet, though he quickly discovered there was nowhere to pace in the confined space.

"You are a King, Estel. Kings are born, not created by their crowning. And you already have the far sight and the use of _athelas_ , the King's herb, for healing, do you not?"

"How have you heard of these things?"

Legolas shrugged. " _Good news travels fast_ ," he quoted, "though we have ever been careful of your safety, as Elrond constantly enjoins."

"Is this some sort of trick?" demanded Aragorn of the shape in the darkness. "You ask the impossible - I am promised…"

"Think on your Lady's words, Aragorn. She releases you for this night, that we may do this vital thing…"

"What, an obscure Elvish fertility ritual that even your kingdom has not practiced for centuries? This is vital?" Aragorn slammed his hand into the solid oak that trapped him, feeling more emotion than was seemly, the more so since the heat in his loins urged him onwards, onwards. He heard Legolas' feet moving towards him through the dry leaves, and braced himself.

"Do not abuse the tree, but sit down and listen," said Legolas softly, not touching him. "I have not explained this well enough, or rather, you have not let me finish explaining."

Aragorn rested his forehead for a moment against the solid wood and made himself breathe more slowly. Then he turned and slid noisily down to sit amongst the leaves once more. "Talk," he said curtly. "And talk fast, for I am no longer sure I like your company."

Legolas bit his lip, but continued. "The seasons are but one cycle in the life of Arda," he said. "There are longer ones, that are less readily seen except by the First-Born, living and enduring with her. In their inscrutable wisdom, the Valar also permit that evil and darkness may grow and flourish in their time, bringing the world near to death before with mighty effort they are swept away and a new Age begins." Aragorn lifted his head. "We have reached the longest night of that cycle also, _mellon-nín_ ," said the Elf. "The malignant, killing winter of the Dark Lord is about to begin; the struggle for survival commences in earnest. Arda has never known such despair as she knows this night. She needs - we need - our King. Our Hope. That is why I have travelled to Imladris. Not to bring the news about the escape of Smeagol, though that is dire enough. Not to lend my bow to the Fellowship and my aid to the Ring-Bearer, though I am well pleased that Elrond has chosen me to do so. But to find you and join with you so that Arda may feel you through me and know the hope you bring to us all."

Aragorn pondered for several long moments. "Do you truly believe this?" he asked at last.

"Aye, as I believe in my own existence."

"And you have spoken with Arwen about this? Nay, that is obvious enough."

"She is old in wisdom, your Lady, and she weighed the matter much before she gave her consent. As did Lord Elrond."

"Elrond? _Elrond_ knows about this… this plot?" The anger and disbelief had returned.

Legolas replied wearily, "It is no plot, Aragorn. And you are unwilling. That is enough. Come, let us return to the Homely House, everyone's honour untarnished." He started to climb towards the exit from their refuge. Aragorn got up and laid a hand on his arm.

"Nay, stop, Legolas. It is not that I am unwilling." He swallowed painfully. "It is that I am _too_ willing, and for the wrong reason."

Legolas dropped soundlessly to stand before him, and raised a hand to each of his companion's shoulders. "A little honest lust will not come amiss, will it? Under the circumstances?"

Aragorn drooped his head, bitterly ashamed of himself, and Legolas leaned so that their brows touched. "Will it not… will it not harm your rite if my motives are not pure?" asked the Ranger in a low tone.

For answer, Legolas slipped his arms all the way round the unresisting Man and pressed himself close. "Are mine?" he asked rhetorically, the hardness against Aragorn's hipbone answering the question. "Nay, it is surely only voiceless beasts and mindless orcs who act from one motive and one alone. Should we be paralyzed by the fear of doing the right thing for the wrong reason? It will not harm the rite."

"And you really think this ceremony has meaning? That it operates against the Dark Lord?"

"I do not _think_ , Estel. I know. My whole body aches with the world's suffering this eve. My heart is full of sorrow not my own. Every winter solstice this feeling has grown worse for me as Sauron has covertly built his power. We have seen his vile influence in Mirkwood for many centuries now but we were only the first. The rest of Arda shudders under his bane; trees die, rivers clog, marshes grow thick and foul. Winters grow colder and long-dormant mountains spout fire again. My father and I both believe that Arda has truly reached a crisis and the ancient ceremony must be revived, if only once. It will not defeat Sauron - only the Ringbearer's courage and the obliteration of the Dark Armies will do that. But it will add strength and hope where it is much needed: in the heart of the land itself."

Aragorn brought his arms around his companion, returning the embrace. "I cannot wholly share your belief," he said slowly. "But I will not deny it either, just because I am shamed by how eagerly I embrace the means." He tightened his arms to illustrate. "Are there words?" he asked. Since it was to be done, it should be done right.

"A few," said Legolas, loosing him and pushing him gently to sit again by his side in the dim light. "I can teach them to you to while away the time until the exact moment of the solstice. They are in Silvan, but we can say them in Sindarin if that comes more easily to your tongue."

"My Silvan is competent, I think," replied Aragorn in that language.

Legolas shook his head and said, "Of course. You are learned and well-travelled. I should know not to underestimate you, my King."

Aragorn bridled. "Why do you mock me with that title?"

"I do not mock you," said Legolas gravely. "There is something else I should tell you, too. Just to be safe."

"More mysteries?" sighed Aragorn, but Legolas ignored his tone.

"It seems from our records that sometimes the Vessel falls into a mood of prophecy as the act is completed. I do not know if that will happen, but I tell you so it will not worry you."

"I am more worried about harming you."

"I have brought all the necessaries."

"Is there a special place we should be?"

"In here is best."

"Facing any particular direction?"

"West."

"How will you know when it is the moment of the solstice?"

"I will know."

"Are you always so full of pat answers?"

There was a pause. "Only when I am nervous," confessed the Elf.

Aragorn reached and found a hand, and entwined their fingers. "We are both warm now," he said. "It will go well. How long until we begin?"

"By my reckoning, another half hour."

"Teach me the words, then."

Aragorn did not like the words he was to say. He thought them boastful, vainglorious, overbearing and silly. "Must I really address you as 'Lowly Vessel of my Potent Seed'?" he expostulated.

"Well, at that particular moment I will be, will I not?" replied Legolas matter-of-factly. "Do not fear, though, my King, I will have my revenge a few moments later when I tell you you are 'a slave hopelessly entrapped by every earthly desire.' We will spoil this rite with giggling if we are not careful."

But after they had rehearsed until their short declarations and responses were automatic, when Legolas finally said, "We should prepare now," neither was in a giggling mood. The Elf silently pressed into Aragorn's hand a small bottle containing some oily substance, then spread his cloak across the leafy floor, stripped off his clothing and lay face-down. "I am ready," he said in a small voice. "Can you see?"

"A little," husked Aragorn. He sat by Legolas' hip and mapped out the contours of back and buttocks by touch for a few seconds, then nudged the strong thighs apart before oiling his fingers. "I feel as if I am taking advantage of you," he confessed, rubbing a tense, careful forefinger over the Elf's puckered opening.

Too tense. Too careful. Legolas risked a joke. "Taking advantage! Never in all my life have I had to do so much persuading to bring someone to my bed!" He pushed back a little against the finger as he heard Aragorn chuckle slightly. Aragorn thanked the Elf in his mind for the reassurance. Now the finger invaded in earnest, followed swiftly by another, and they were firm and knowing. Legolas writhed. "If this is your revenge for my being so mysterious, it is a cunning one," he gasped under the teasing onslaught. Aragorn smiled to himself and made sure the Elf was well-stretched.

At length, he lamented, "I wish I could see you properly," withdrawing his hand to a protesting moan from the Elf, then quickly shedding his clothes.

"See with your hands," invited Legolas, pushing up on to his hands and knees. Aragorn moved behind him and swept his palms over the broad expanse of smooth skin.

"Roll over for me, on your back."

"What? Why?"

"I will not rut with you like a beast."

"Oh."

"Unless the position is prescribed."

"It is not prescribed." Legolas responded breathlessly, since Aragorn's hands had just discovered his Elfhood and were taking full advantage of the permission to explore. He rolled over and parted his legs, giving the Ranger more access.

"I wish… I wish to be kind with you," said Aragorn.

He could not see Legolas' face, but could swear there was a smile in the soft Elven tones. "It is permitted, my King."

Aragorn dipped his head until his beard rubbed against the broad smooth planes of Legolas' chest, then navigated with lips and tongue until he discovered a delightfully responsive nub. Legolas' hands strayed across his back, and then were quickly withdrawn.

"May I?" asked the Elf.

"Of course." Legolas' hands tentatively returned. Aragorn shifted up to steal a kiss, but Legolas turned his face away, and the Ranger regretfully accepted the prohibition. They were not, after all, _melethryn_.

"It will be soon. Are you ready?"

 _For the last hour and more_ , grumbled Aragorn's thoughts, but he merely brought Legolas' hand to his organ so that he could judge for himself.

"Ai! Ready indeed," exclaimed the Elf. "Pray be careful, you … you Oliphaunt!"

"It is but a trick of the darkness," responded Aragorn soothingly, tipping a generous portion of the oil into the Elf's palm, and rubbing the hand over his organ. "No Oliphaunts here, only a Ranger."

Legolas seemed about to reply, but instead he went suddenly still and silent. Within and without their refuge, there was deathly quiet. Aragorn's breath sounded harsh in his own ears and he could hear the beat of his heart. Then Legolas softly said in Silvan, "In the midst of my loneliness and weakness I cry out for you, my King." The rite had begun. Carefully, Aragorn lifted the Elf's legs to his shoulders and eased in.

Legolas was most responsive. His lissome body bent and then pressed back with every deepening thrust; his legs locked tight around Aragorn's back; first sighs and then heartfelt moans signalled very clearly when the Ranger struck and struck again his most pleasurable spot. And yet, even after they had quickly panted forth their little dialogue for whatever Powers might be listening, Aragorn had the distinct impression that he shared the Elf's attention with someone - or something - else. As his own ability to think clearly dissipated in the urgency of his passion, he returned again and again to a fervent wish that he could see Legolas' face. "How do you fare?" he gasped forth at last.

Legolas' hands came up and grasped Aragorn's upper arms in a bruising grip. "Tell me, my King," he said in a shaking voice. "Tell me we shall not fail! Tell me our Quest is not a folly; that Sauron shall not prevail; that Arda is not doomed!"

And though Aragorn was perilously near that state where he cared for no Quest, no rite, no future, naught but the velvet heat around him and the fire in his belly, he made himself concentrate his mind for the sake of the glorious, trembling being beneath him. "Listen to me, Elf, and listen well!" he growled. "We shall prevail - there is no doubt. The cycle will not be broken; evil has had its day and now we shall have ours!" Every phrase was driven home with fire and passion. "We will do our part bravely, and the Valar will bring us safe home into a new age of peace. And hope. And beauty. An age truly fit for you, my Elf!" Not able to stop himself, he reached forward to touch Legolas' face, shifting his weight roughly across the slighter body.

As Aragorn's fingers touched his cheek, Legolas arched and wailed aloud "Estel!" At the edge of Aragorn's vision it seemed for a blurry moment that there was a glow in the air around them, and he wondered vaguely whether the rite could have caused the heat, the brightness, the melody, the fragrance that seemed for a second to clutch at his very vitals before fading away. Then at the warm wetness on his belly and the clenching around his organ, Aragorn lost all thought and spilled his seed. And just for that mindless instant, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, believed it all - believed that the good was bound to prevail, and that he was a true King and had given solace and hope to the earth itself. He lapsed briefly into unconsciousness.

When he came to himself, Aragorn realized that Legolas had shifted to the opposite side of their tree-cave, and was sitting, still and rigid, with his back turned. The Ranger shuffled over to him through the leaves. "Legolas?" he asked gently, and receiving no answer, he dared to lift a hand to the Elf's lowered chin and raise his face into the faint beams of the crescent moon. Tears were streaming fast and completely silently down Legolas' face.

"Oh, no, no, this must not be," said Aragorn in distress, pulling the Elf into his arms and rocking him slightly. "Did I hurt you?" He felt Legolas shake his head. "What is it, then? Was it the prophecy you told me of? Did you see something of the future?"

Legolas shuddered in his arms and gulped. But then he pushed himself away a little and with frightening rapidity regained control of himself, wiping the tears away and saying steadily, "It is nothing, _mellon-nín_. Just a meaningless reaction."

Aragorn was not convinced. "Do you think the ritual failed? Is that it?" He was surprised at the desolation he felt himself at the idea.

Above their heads there was the flap of wings. An owl began to hoot, joined quickly by the fainter sounds of other owls replying from the forest. Now the moonlight found a radiant smile on the Elf's tear-stained face. "There is your answer," he replied.

They spent the rest of the night within the tree-cavern for the sake of having dawn's light upon their return over the treacherous forest paths. But they slept clothed and apart, Legolas indicating that this was his preference by simply putting on his clothes and pulling his cloak out of Aragorn's way. Aragorn did not understand; nor did he argue.

/-/-/-/-/-/

In the pre-dawn light, Aragorn opened his eyes to find that Legolas was not sleeping after all, but was sitting with his back pressed firmly to the oak's inner trunk, his hands spread flat against the wood, and his face half-turned.

"What are you doing?" asked the Ranger.

"Shhh," admonished Legolas. "The tree is talking."

Fascinated, Aragorn watched and waited until Legolas relaxed and turned to him a few minutes later.

"What did it say?"

"He said 'Thank you'," replied Legolas.

"Were you listening long?"

"About an hour, I think. Old trees speak slowly."

"All that time just to say 'Thank you'?"

Legolas' eyes twinkled. "He said it twice."

Aragorn pulled himself a little stiffly to his feet, testing the sore ankle and pleased to find it better. "Are you always that patient?"

"Nay," said Legolas, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Before the startled Ranger could react, the Elf took two swift steps and caught him into a kiss. Aragorn responded immediately, catching fire from Legolas' urgency. They tussled for control for a few seconds, then by common consent lingered with tender swipes of tongue and painless nips and rubs, tasting each other with curiosity and mutual delight.

Legolas drew back first. "That was not for Arda; that was for myself," he declared needlessly.

Enthralled, Aragorn reached for him again. "You have leaves in your hair," he told the Elf, and started to pick one out.

"Nay, Aragorn, leave it," said Legolas sharply. "I will deal with it." And once again Aragorn stood confused and rebuffed by the moody Elf. But there was one thing more than there had been the night before: now Aragorn was aware that he had a great yearning to know, to understand, and perhaps to love. In the same instant came guilt. "We should return to Elrond's House," he said, turning away with a sigh.

"Aye," agreed Legolas tersely. And so they did, silently side by side in the chill morning air, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

/-/-/-/-/

As they entered the great vestibule of the House, Aragorn was very nearly bowled over by a screeching Merry, fleeing from Pippin and Frodo, both of whom wielded large feather pillows. "Hello, Strider! Hello, Legolas!" shouted Frodo cheerfully as he ran past, but he did not break stride in his pursuit. Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances.

"What a change from last night," said Aragorn. "You don't suppose…?"

"… that your rite had something to do with that? I would be most amazed if it did not!" said Elrond, appearing between them and putting a friendly hand on each shoulder. "I was well aware of the effects myself." A smile cracked his usually dour visage at the sight of Legolas' surprise. "You Mirkwood Elves," Elrond said, almost fondly. "So sure you are the only ones with any earth-lore. Aragorn," he went on, "Gandalf and I would like to speak with you about preparations for your journey. Can you join us?"

Aragorn nodded his consent, and they left a thoughtful Elf standing in the hallway. Eventually that Elf braced his shoulders as for an unpleasant task, and betook himself to see Arwen.

Arwen half-rose from her chair to greet him, but dropped back in surprise when Legolas fell to his knees in front of her, seized one of her hands and said, "Arwen, I am so very, very sorry."

"Legolas?" she responded, surprised. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I do!"

"You sound like a confused Elfling, Legolas. We agreed together that it was necessary to try this rite, and by all accounts it was most successful. Why would you be sorry about that?"

Legolas sat back despondently on his heels, unable to look at her. "There is more. It was not of my seeking, Arwen, I swear it, but as we … as the rite drew to its conclusion, my _fëa_ reached out to him, seeking to merge."

Arwen blanched.

"You need not worry, I was rebuffed," said Legolas quickly to the floor. "Or rather, completely ignored. I am not sure he even noticed the aura; or perhaps he thought it was part of the rite. And then afterwards - no, I do not think I can explain how it was, to be so much inhabited, and yet still be so much in myself, but when all was complete and the Earth-sense left me, I was filled with visions of what is to come. Many were strange and fragmentary, and I am still trying to remember and understand them. But there was one that was quite clear - I saw myself walking with Estel, loving him, year after year until he was a very old man. And because of what had just happened, I knew that it would be a fruitless, painful love for all of those years, and I wept." He took a deep breath. "I let him hold me as I wept, Arwen. And I kissed him. Once. And that is all. You have my oath." He gave a mournful laugh. "At least I bring you confirmation, if you needed it, that your bond with his _fëa_ is strong."

If ever in her long life Arwen Undómiel was tempted to lie by omission for her own ends, it was at this moment. But that was not Arwen's way. "Look at me, Legolas," she said gently. "You do not know much about humans, do you, _mellon_? We are not bonded, Estel and I, nor will we ever be so, with the merging of _fëar_ , as two elves are. Though humans are capable of great love, and great constancy, that binding is not possible for them." She winced at the expression of sudden joy that Legolas could not quite suppress in time.

"I am sorry," he said again.

"Do not be," she said, rising to her feet and inviting him to rise also. "Legolas, the future is dim to us all. I do most fervently hope that your vision was a true one, for if it was it means that both you and he will survive the great struggles that lie ahead. But now I charge you to be single-minded upon your quest, to bend every effort to defeat Sauron. For if that is not accomplished, nothing else will matter. Nothing at all."

Legolas bowed his lips to her hand once more, and left her to her unquiet thoughts.

/-/-/-/-/

History does not record what Aragorn and Arwen said to each other in her chambers the morning after that fateful night. But those who saw Aragorn entering say he had tight lips and a grim face, and when he left, his mien was soft, and he wore the Evenstar about his neck.

And so the Nine Walkers left the Last Homely House one cold December evening a few days later. Arwen watched them go from an upper window, then turned away, biting her lip. "If the Quest is not accomplished, nothing else will matter," she said quietly to herself. Again. And again.

The road was wide and smooth in the first part of their night-journey. For the most part, they took up their appointed positions: Gandalf leading along with Aragorn, and Legolas keeping watch at the rear. But for a few moments, Aragorn betook himself to the back of their straggling line.

With a cautious glance, he asked, "Walk with me a little, Legolas?"

And Legolas fell into step beside him with a smile of great affection and hope, saying, "To the Gates of Mordor and beyond, my King."

 _finis_  
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